I am not a butterfly surrounded by Spring
I am not the song you can‘t help but sing
I am not the forever you look for in eyes
I am not the kiss before satisfied sighs
I am the thunder of a violent storm
I am the words you cannot form
I am the cement that stubs your toes
I am winter‘s burn on your fingers and nose
I am the sting from tearing a bandage quicker
I am the ache following too much liquor
I am the nightmare that seems so vividly real
I am the wound that needs to heal.
I am the ghost that you beg to leave.
I am the pain you need to grieve.